


Liten fågel

by dame5



Category: Football RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 05:49:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13334775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dame5/pseuds/dame5
Summary: Despite the darkness, he can see the outline of her face. The fierce curve of her eyebrows, and the sharp angles of her chiseled face. Her face is bare, but to him it’s the most beautiful face in the world. He didn’t know what he did to convince her to choose him. Where she was from; what she came from was an inconceivable world…too far from his reach. He was a snot-nosed punk from Rosengård. She could have easily married someone smarter. With better manners. Someone richer. Someone who would not subject her being under the public eye and excessive stress. Yet here she is. Beside him.





	Liten fågel

Maxi is climbing into their bed again. Zlatan doesn’t even open his eyes. He knows it’s him from the familiar sensation of the mattress dipping and the cover sliding down his shoulder as his son’s hands pull down on the comforter. Maxi positions himself in between him and Helena, and he fidgets as he tries to settle in.

“Momma… _momma_ ….” Maxi whispers. And Zlatan feels him shaking the bed with the obstinate nudging of his little hands against her shoulder as she sleeps.

He wants to ignore everything, letting Helena respond to little Maxi so he could go back to sleep. But he’s already awake, and he figures Helena deserves a break. He rolls onto his back and his arm reaches over to give Maxi a squeeze. It’s more of a pinch than a squeeze. A non-verbal cue to stop.

“Momma.” Maxi speaks, voice high pitched and broken. He no longer keeps it down to a whisper.

Zlatan rolls onto his left side now and pulls Maxi towards him, holding him against his chest.

“Maxi…let your mother sleep.”

He feels him resisting his grasp around him and he whines in protest. And that’s how he knows he will have to get out of bed and carry Maxi to the kitchen. Perhaps warm up a glass of milk and carry him back to bed once he’s calmed down.

He laughs in the silence of his thoughts at the realization of what he has become. Though to his manager, his teammates and friends he upheld the appearance of the tough guy from Rosengård, a core part of who he was _softened_.

He would never go back to being the same, the day he became a father.

The day Maxi came into his life.

He always believed some of his friends had gone crazy when they swore that they would jump in front of a train or an eighteen-wheeler going at full speed down the highway…if it would ensure that their children would be successful and happy. It’s only after they had Maxi, that he would come to understand what he once thought were mere exaggerations.

He would do _anything_ for his children. Anything for Maxi and Vincent. He loves them both with everything he has. And though he tries his best to treat them equally, it’s Maxi who tugs on his heartstrings just a little harder.

He sees so much of himself in him.

Zlatan raises Maxi overhead and laughs quietly as he observes him kicking and squirming in a quasi-tantrum. He’s feistier than the average four-year old…for someone so _tiny_. He himself was once a skinny, sickly rat of a boy. No one would have ever imagined he would get so strong…or come so far. Zlatan feels a swoop of tenderness as he brings little Maxi back down. And in one sweeping motion, he turns to the side and steps out of bed, with his son folded in his arms.

Maxi’s head is tucked in the crook of his shoulder as he walks towards the kitchen. He strains his eyes as he makes his way through the dark and he exhales sharply through his nose when he hears Maxi letting out a few cries. All he can think of is to bring one hand over his back to massage him. Something he had observed Helena do dozens of times with the children to soothe them. He runs his warm hand over Maxi’s back until he gets to the fridge, and he pulls out the bottle of milk, which he sets aside on the counter momentarily to selectively turn on the kitchen lights. He sets Maxi down on top of the kitchen counter. He no longer protests or kicks. On the contrary. He seems amused, perhaps happy to have such undivided attention in the early hours of the morning. _At 2:32 hrs, to be exact_. He thinks as he takes note of the time on the microwave digital clock.

Zlatan brings his hand to adjust Maxi’s shirt which had ridden up, and it’s then that his eyes land on the scar on his little belly. He traces it with his thumb, which has Maxi giggling at the tickling sensation it produces. Zlatan’s eyes rise to notice his smile.

“Silly monkey, you,.” he says in a low voice as he pinches Maxi’s nose, “It’s not funny that you woke up _Pappa_ from his sleep.”

He pours milk into a microwave-safe plastic cup—one of the child-friendly cups Helena had purchased sometime ago to wean Maxi off the bottle.

And it all comes back to him.

…

“ _Min Guuud_ , Maxi!”

Zlatan hears Helena exclaim from the kitchen. It comes out with thinly veiled irritation and concern.

“Not again…” He hears her sigh.

She’s beyond exhausted these days, getting little to no sleep while caring for little Maxi, who can’t seem to keep anything down for long.

He walks into the kitchen, and sees the pile of vomit on the floor. It’s a little more pungent than regular vomit. Breast milk shouldn’t smell this strong.

And the consistency. It was another odd feature. He didn’t imagine regular vomit could look that thick and clumpy.

As Helena wipes Maxi’s mouth, she raises her eyes to meet his, and it’s in that moment they both share the same premonition.

“Something’s not right, Helena.”

“I think so too.” She responds.

 _What could possibly be wrong with him?_ It’s a nagging thought that won’t go away.

And Zlatan can’t keep it to himself any longer. Fuck what everyone else kept telling them. Fuck the lies he kept telling himself. What he wanted to  _believe_. That this is normal. That babies throw up all the time. That it will eventually get better. They were told that sometimes, newborn babies lose weight before they start gaining it back again. But now, he was certain that Maxi had lost too much weight, and there was no denying that he was getting weaker. Yet everyone kept telling them they were being paranoid. That they were overly obsessing…which was normal as Maxi was their first child and they were new to parenting.

He was done with all of that nonsense. Something  _is_  wrong.

Helena breaks eye contact and lowers her eyes to continue wiping Maxi down.

“Should we call for a doctor?” She asks.

Inter Milan and Messina face off tomorrow. The last thing he needs is to have additional worries and pressures when all of his thoughts and energies have to stay focused on the match. Then of course is the willful side of him that wants to stay in a state of denial. _Maxi is his_ _son_. Nothing is wrong with him. When he was born, he seemed strong enough. This was simply just a developmental hurdle he had to get through. And it’s then he realizes that if he stays behind to discuss the matter with Helena just one minute longer, he will be late for morning conditioning with the team.

“Let’s hold off until tomorrow, yes?”

He swoops down to kiss her forehead before he steps out, and for the first time in a long time, he feels as defenseless as a sick child.

…

He comes back to the present when the microwave goes off, signaling that the milk has been heated. He removes the cup and brings it to his lips to make sure the temperature is right before he screws on the lid and extends it to Maxi.

“ _Pappa_ …I don’t have to use the lid anymore. Momma said so. I’m _four_ now.”

He feels slightly embarrassed; as well as invaded by a sudden realization of how fast Maxi has grown. Did four years go by flying _that_ fast? He removes the lid promptly and a smile spreads on his face.

“That’s right. I keep forgetting you’re a big boy now.”

“Yeah. I’m big now. Vincent is a little boy. He still drinks with the lid. Not me. I don’t make a mess anymore.”

And Zlatan has to laugh quietly at Maxi’s remarks. He remembers how eager he was to grow up and feel closer to being an adult. He runs his large hand over his long blonde hair before he kisses the crown of his head. Zlatan knows he will have to get up to train in a few hours, but he’s happy to share these minutes with Maxi. He doesn’t nearly get enough time with his boys, and they’re growing up much too fast.

Maxi sets the cup down, which Zlatan tosses into the sink before he scoops him back up.

“And you’re going back to bed.”

“Nooooo. No _pappa_ …”

“That’s what big boys do. I thought you were a big boy, Maxi.”

“Yes—but…”

“But what?” Zlatan presses his lips against his cheeks. “Come on now. _Pappa_ needs to sleep. And you need to sleep too, big boy.”

He turns off the kitchen lights, and now he squints to make his way back to the boy’s bedroom in the dark.

He sets Maxi down on his back and pulls the covers over him. Maxi does not once take his eyes off him, as he takes the time to help him settle back in comfortably.

“There. Promise me you’ll go back to sleep?”

Maxi juts his arms out, making a grasping motion with his hands, and that’s how he knows he probably wants his plush giraffe doll he bought for him at the zoo a few months ago. He turns to look for it in among his pile of toys and hands it to him.

“ _Godnatt_ , Maxi.”

“ _G’natt_ _pappa_ …”

Zlatan walks back to his bedroom and sits at the corner of his bed for a few moments to collect his thoughts before he swings his legs up and throws the covers over him. He is positioning himself on his side when he feels a familiar grasp over his shoulder. It’s Helena. He rolls onto his back and turns to look at her.

“ _God_ _morgon_.” He smiles at her while grasping her hand.

Despite the darkness, he can see the outline of her face. The fierce curve of her eyebrows, and the sharp angles of her chiseled face. Her face is bare, but to him it’s the most beautiful face in the world. He didn’t know what he did to convince her to choose him. Where she was from; what she came from was an inconceivable world…too far from his reach. He was a snot-nosed punk from _Rosengård_. She could have easily married someone smarter. With better manners. Someone richer. Someone who would not subject her being under the public eye and excessive stress. Yet here she is. Beside him.

“How did you get our little bird to go back to bed?” Helena whispers as she nudges closer.

“I gave Maxi a warm glass of milk and told him to go back to sleep like a big boy.” He grins. He sees her eyes scanning his face and the corners of her lips tugging into a tight smile.

She squeezes his hand.

“Mentioning “Maxi” and “milk” together in the same sentence makes my stomach knot up.”

Zlatan sighs sharply and looks away momentarily.

“But we got through it. That’s all that matters.”

For a moment, the silence of the room feels overpowering. Stronger than the sound of their breathing.

She doesn’t say anything to him because she isn’t that kind of person. The kind of person to rub his faults in such a way that it hurts. She doesn't dig away at his pride. His true character was exposed, and he learned what he’s truly made of when they came close to losing their son. He was weak in the face of uncertainty. It was true. He was a coward. He knows, that in the moment where she needed him the most, he failed her.

He left her to deal with the pain and the consuming uncertainty of whether Maxi would live on her own.

In that moment when she reached for his hand, he simply became another child.

And yet, she doesn't say anything.

His eyes dart back and forth from her eyes to the curve of her lips, and he doesn’t dare ask her what she’s thinking.

He already sees, in the manner her eyes look away that she’s chasing away unhappy thoughts.

It doesn’t take away from the fact that he failed her then, but he pulls her close.

He kisses her forehead with reverent devotion just as they both close their eyes to go back to sleep.


End file.
